


The Penalty

by TriplePirouette



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Gen, Post TDK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-13
Updated: 2009-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:11:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriplePirouette/pseuds/TriplePirouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Alfred?" Bruce asked quietly, "Do you think that anyone truly deserves to die at another man's hand? Even if they have done unspeakable acts? If they've killed people?" Angst, post TDK. What happens at the end of the Joker's Trial?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Penalty

**Author's Note:**

> With the Nolan-verse Joker more terrorist than insane-mayhem-maker I wondered what would happen if he were up for the death penalty? It's the Joker's aim, the entire movie, to get Batman to kill him and break his moral code to show that ordinary people can kill. Batman couldn't, but what if the people could? How would Bruce Wayne deal with it? I'm not trying to assert an opinion on capital punishment here, just exploring a "what-if." Please do not read anything political into this, just enjoy it for what it is.

 

Bruce Wayne had only one rule born out of watching four people die before his eyes: Batman would not intentionally kill anyone. While the death of his parents spawned his alter-ego, it was the death of Joe Chill that gave birth to the Batman's rule, and the death of Ra's Al Ghul that cemented it into his soul.

From the day that Bruce Wayne watched as somber men in dark suits lowered his parents into their graves until the day that he returned from college for the trial, Bruce Wayne wanted nothing more than to kill the man who had caused his world to collapse in on itself. As he listened to Chill in the courtroom, something in him began to cause doubt to swirl deep in his stomach. His father had always told him how desperate people became when they were in need, when they had no money- something he knew nothing about. Bruce had read about the first trial- the one that he wasn't allowed to be at save for his short testimony- memorizing the story Chill spun about his destitution and desperation, how he hadn't meant to kill anyone, never mind two people who were trying to help people like him. It had always seemed like a load of crap to Bruce.

But that day in the courtroom Bruce heard the man speak, heard his words and the tone behind them, saw the sadness and desperation in the eyes of someone who had spent a decade in prison. He got up and left, not out of disgust, but out of the fear that he'd somehow be convinced not to do what he'd spent the better part of his life planning: kill the man who killed his parents.

Gun in hand, he had waited outside of the courtroom, no thoughts as to what would happen to him, or Alfred, just wanting revenge, wanting someone to feel as bad, as alone, as helpless as he did.

A shot rang out, and it wasn't his. Bruce watched the life drain from Chill's body, watched the confusion and the chaos as people ran for their lives. He didn't feel any better. He didn't feel relieved or happy. He didn't have his parents back. All that had happened was that another man had died and someone else had become a murderer.

"Master Bruce," Alfred interrupted his thoughts, stepping into the re-built mansion's lounge where Bruce was currently sitting and staring into the fireplace in front of him. "It's almost noon."

"I'm aware, Alfred." Bruce nodded a bit, not looking away from the flickering flames.

"Will you be watching the verdict, sir?" Alfred asked quietly, stepping further into the room.

"I don't know if I want to," he said softly.

"Very good, sir." Alfred watched his young charge for a moment, unsure of what he could do for the torment on his face. "I'll be in the entertainment room if you change your mind."

"Alfred?" Bruce asked quietly, "Do you think that anyone truly deserves to die at another man's hand? Even if they have done unspeakable acts? If they've killed people?"

Alfred sighed, walking over to the chair Bruce sat in, standing stiffly next to it as Bruce revealed his blood-shot eyes and tear-stained cheeks for the first time. "No, I don't. But that's in a perfect world, sir. In a perfect world we wouldn't need soldiers or police, or the Batman, but we also wouldn't have men like him."

"And in an imperfect world? In a world where men kill indiscriminately? Where I have to dress up and break the law just to protect the people that do try to live good lives?" Bruce looked up at him, pleading for his guardian, his friend, to somehow reveal a magical answer that would make sense out of all his confusion.

"In the real world we need people who are willing to do whatever is necessary to protect the innocent from men who would kill every one of them for fun."

Bruce said nothing else, just turned away to the fire's glow again. Alfred quietly walked out of the room.

Ra's Al Ghul, a man that had taught Bruce everything he knew, everything he needed to be a savior, a help to the people of Gotham, popped into his mind unbidden. Al Ghul had been convinced that death, a cleansing of biblical proportions, was the only way to fight evil. As Bruce flew from the back of the falling monorail he'd tried to convince himself that what he'd done was right- that not saving him was an easy way to make sure that Ra's Al Ghul could never hurt anyone ever again. Had he not been there, Bruce told himself, he would have died anyway.

For months after that he dreamed of the man he'd come to see as a father-figure plunging away from him, bursting into flames. He'd learned the hard way that taking no action was also a choice, one that he'd decided not to make when he first became the Batman. The Batman was simply about the choice to take action, to be proactive in ways that no one else could be in an effort to make the world just a slightly better place. Sitting in his bed, drenched in a cold sweat one night months ago he made the decision that he would never willingly cause or allow the death of someone if he could help it.

He'd kept to his rule. No one died. Not on his watch, not anymore.

Until the Joker. Until the man that had no rules forced his hand, forced him to do things that he didn't necessarily think were right, to become someone he wasn't sure he wanted to be, pushing his every limit, pushing him to the point of breaking. In his pursuit of the Joker he'd destroyed private and public property, taken risks with his life and the lives of the people around him, put people's trust in him in danger and invaded the privacy of everyone in Gotham that had a cell phone. So many things that he didn't want to do- that he couldn't fathom doing now. He'd done them none the less to keep that man away from the city he loved so much, to try to pull some hope out of the ashes through Dent, through Rachel...

After everything he had gone through, after all of the mayhem and destruction in Gotham, it was Dent lying dead when the dust settled and the Joker who laughed at them all from the front page of the newspaper.

He would never regret it: he'd saved the life of a young boy- of Gordon's boy. Dent had lost his mind and watching the man he'd put all of his hope in put a loaded gun to a young boy's head… He'd lept before he'd thought of the consequences, before he realized that he'd only be able to hold on to one of them as they toppled over the edge. In a moment Dent became another life that he'd been unable to save, another mind he'd been unable to salvage. Though who was to say that in that night, Batman hadn't lost just a little more of himself? The loss of Rachel still made him want to don the suit and find every man responsible; make them answer for their crimes. And yet, in a moment's decision, he'd saved a young boy at the expense of the man that he'd once put all of his hope in. It seemed to sum up what he was in some twisted way: the salvation of the innocent at the expense of so much more.

Death never sat right with the man who worked so hard to stop it every night.

Wayne stood and walked away from the fire, through the halls of the mansion to the entertainment room with its giant plasma screen television and rows of comfortable couches. Alfred sat, front and center, watching the reporter on the screen as Bruce walked in.

"I don't know how I feel about this." Bruce said sitting next to the only family he had left.

"I don't either. But you can't deny that if he's alive, he's a threat." Alfred said quietly.

"He once told me that I completed him... Batman, that is. It's true. In this world, the good is balanced out by the bad. Someone like Batman, a force for good, can't exist..."

"...without a force for evil." Alfred quietly finished as Bruce turned up the sound.

The woman on screen, courtroom behind her, continued talking in a hushed whisper. "-waiting for the judge to come out. This has been one of the most closely followed federal trials in years. Yesterday, the Jury rendered their verdict for the man known only as The Joker: guilty on all counts. The defendant responded by laughing maniacally at the court at which point it had to be dismissed for the afternoon so the defendant could be sedated and returned to solitary confinement at Gotham's National Guard post."

An anchor appeared split screen with her. "Have you been able to confirm any of the rumors regarding the Joker's confinement?"

"No, Tom, unfortunately we have not. However, we have been told, and can plainly see each day, that the lone man dressed only in canvas sneakers and his prison jumpsuit, and lacking his trademark make-up, is escorted by a fully armed National Guard battalion to and from court every day. We've also been told that he's being held in a solitary confinement cell at their Gotham base, being guarded twenty-four hours a day."

"Any news on the Batman? Many people say that he's been seen at the National Guard post."

Alfred looked at Bruce, who shook his head. He hadn't been out in nearly a week, and didn't tempt fate by going anywhere near the post. He donned the cape every few nights to stop the occasional small crime, to keep fear in small criminals and to give Gordon something to talk about in the pursuit of the 'criminal' Batman.

The reporter continued, "Nothing substantial. According to Gotham police he is a wanted fugitive. Many citizens of Gotham are of two minds about him- he was the only one able to stop the Joker, but he's also rumored to be the cause of Harvey Dent's death." The camera wavered and the split screen disappeared. "Oh, we're getting started."

Bruce sighed, still unsure of all that had happened lately, and tried to pay attention as he watched three armed guards bring in a scarred but plain-faced Joker, who still could not be identified. Moments later the Judge entered the room, sitting quietly at the podium. The bailiff called for the defendant to stand, and he was hauled to his feet. The judge frowned then began to speak.

"You, Sir, are the worst kind of man imaginable. By a jury of your peers you've been deemed a terrorist of the worst form. Doctors, while happy to label you a sociopath, also acknowledge that you are fully aware, and even revel, in the havoc you cause. You, yourself, have testified in this courtroom that you would incite more mayhem at any chance you got." The camera cut away to the Joker, head tilted slightly, licking the puffy, reddened scars at the corners of his mouth. "Your competency, as a logical human being, is sound. You are not remorseful. You have already made threats against more people and against society in general. It is my opinion that Gotham, and the world, can not be a safe place while you are alive. I therefore declare that you are sentenced to die by lethal injection at the earliest convenience of the state."

Bruce dropped his head as the Judge banged his gavel, muting the television. Alfred watched the Joker laugh, jumping up and down, and un-muted the television. Bruce jumped at the noise of the man's voice. "He he! You are all JUST LIKE ME! You fear what you don't know. So you destroy it! Kill it. Kill it like I killed... make it go away... please Mr. Judge… make the bad man go away! You'll never forget me… you'll try... but you won't."

It was like the Joker was talking directly to him. Hell, maybe he was- he didn't doubt that the man knew he'd be watching, either there or on television. The Joker, if nothing else, was smart. The first lethal injection in the state in over two decades of a man who not only incited mass chaos, but couldn't be identified? It would live in infamy not only in the minds of the people who had lived it, but in history books, police manuals, law books... he was right. They would always remember him.

Alfred turned the television off, surprised at how quickly Bruce jumped from the couch. "Master Bruce, where are you going?"

Bruce turned in the door, determination set on his face. "I still don't know how much I like this- but it doesn't matter. The people of Gotham, the people that I protect, will be safer without him. It won't change what he's done, it won't bring Rachel, or Harvey, or anyone else back." He hung his head then looked up again, gathering strength with every thought, every emotion that finally made itself concrete in his mind, "He was right: there's a balance in the world, Alfred. I know that with the Joker gone, that balance is off. That somewhere, there will be someone who thinks they can do a better job than he did. There will be someone that will want to test the Batman again. There will come a day when, though I can't imagine how, someone worse than that man will test me."

Alfred stood, walking over to Bruce, putting a comforting hand on is shoulder.

Bruce smiled a bit, the first hint of anything other than confusion and grief that Alfred had seen in weeks, before he turned and headed to the music room where the secret entrance to the newly improved cave was hidden, speaking confidently to the man behind him, "When that day comes, Alfred, I want to be ready."


End file.
